


just the two of us

by FireLorde



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, OW, Panic Attacks, People who aren't Tony or Nebula are mentioned/minor characters, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow burn friendship, This is only rated M because of some pretty graphic medical stuff, fuck thanos, not a happy fic, some suggestive content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireLorde/pseuds/FireLorde
Summary: After the events of Avengers: Infinity War, a grieving Tony is stranded on Titan with no place to go. With the help of a certain blue cyborg, this odd couple must find a way back home, for better or for worse.





	1. we can make it if we try

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! i'm really excited to start this fic since it's going to be multichaptered and LONGGG. so far i don't have a set upload schedule, but i'll try to stick to weekly.  
> since some situations in this fic have some upsetting themes in them, i'll be sure to put heads-ups for them in the notes before the start of each chapter.  
> for this chapter, i bestow upon y'all an emetophobia (vomiting) warning and a cauterization (sealing a wound with a red-hot object) warning. please take care while reading!  
> a big thank you to my homies and betas, annabel and rhea. couldn't have done this without you!  
> so! without further ado...

“I don’t wanna go,” Peter says, his grip on Tony’s shoulders growing weaker by the moment. He falls back onto a slab of stone on the ground, breathing shakily, trying to hold on a bit longer. Tony tries to hold Peter up, but at this point he’s a deadweight in his arms.

“Please, sir, I don’t wanna go,” he breathes, his voice fading out. Tony’s body feels cold, as if he’s been dipped into arctic waters, and New York flashes across his mind.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, just before the weight of his body gives out and he crumbles into fine ash in Tony’s arms. Tony falls forward, trying to catch any remnants of Peter, but it’s not enough, it’s never enough, it won’t ever be enough.

Hours pass. Tony stays hunched over, with hardly any tears left in his body. His eyes are red and puffy, and he can sense dehydration creeping up on him. From far away, he can hear the crunch of footsteps over flimsy, smoldering metal and dead plants. It gets closer, and seems to slow, and Tony, in his strange, post-grief haze, swats a hand in no particular direction.

“Leave me alone,” he rasps, not bothering to look up at the person approaching him.

“Stark,” says the newcomer, “we need to leave this planet. Now.”

Tony shakes his head.

“Just another minute.”

He runs his fingers over the black dust on the piece of stone again, trying to make sure what’s happened is real, he’s not dreaming, he can’t be, because everything is too real for him. When Tony finally looks up, he’s staring into the black, dead eyes of a blue woman.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he yelps, startled at the proximity of the alien to his face. Tony groans as he feels the searing wound on his chest again, the shell-shockedness of what happened seemingly dulling the pain, if only for a moment. Unfortunately, it’s back, and to Tony, it feels like he’s being torn in half.

“You’re bleeding,” Blue Lady responds curtly.

“Yeah? No shit, Avatar.”

Blue Lady’s face screws up in confusion, and she sighs, something sharp and pointed– well, it’s as pointed as a nonverbal can get. She offers a hand, letting Tony take it weakly, and helps him sit up. He leans against her. He’s so weak from that damn gash that he thinks he might pass out at this point.

“We need to get that stab wound closed, or you’re going to bleed out.”

Blue Lady thinks for a minute, before unbuttoning her jacket and reaching under her leather jumpsuit. Tony hears something tear and winces, feeling rather left behind in this whole situation. Blue Lady’s thought process eludes him.

As if she’s presenting an award, Blue Lady frees her hand from her jumpsuit, holding what appears to be the remains of a tank top and some bindings. Tony doesn’t want to know where those bindings came from, but still, it’s a nice gesture from someone who seems so hostile.

“To seal it…” Blue Lady starts, standing up and walking toward one of many piles of flaming metal. Tony swallows down his words– it’s burning the wound shut or laying dead on a faraway planet, with no one to tell his story but a blue alien. When she returns, he shudders a bit, and her facial expression hardens.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, “this isn’t ideal. And it’s going to hurt. But the benefits outweigh anything else, and at this point, this whole planet is a ticking time bomb.”

Tony nods. He tries his best to help Blue Lady hike his undershirt up, picking away at any remaining nano-armor, and revealing the wound in its repulsive glory. It’s deep, and it’s filled with blood. There’s no way it didn’t miss some sort of vital organ– maybe his heart. And it needs to be closed.

“You’re going to have to lay back and try not to move. It helps to bite something.”

There is a scorching, red-hot platelike thing in Blue Lady’s hands, and Tony turns his head, lying back against the slab. He takes the parts of his shirt that haven’t been completely torn or stained with blood and balls them up, putting them in his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut.

White-hot pain hits Tony right on the stab wound, and he can’t help the muffled scream that jumps from his throat. Blue Lady is sweating now, and noticeably trying not to vomit, for that matter. The scent of singed flesh hangs like a plague in the air.

“Halfway there,” Blue Lady says, trying her hardest to calm down a now-crying Stark. She takes her torn undershirt and her bindings, setting them on her thigh and preparing them for when she needs to cover Stark’s cauterized wound.

Tony manages something like “I can’t do this anymore,” to which Blue Lady shushes him, sealing up the last of his gash and quickly wrapping her shirt around his chest. Its fabric is stretchy and thick– just perfect for dressing a wound. The bindings hold the shirt in place– at least for now– because getting off this smoldering waste of a planet is of highest priority.

“There you go.”

Tony’s breaths have become ragged, and the sharp pains from his chest seem to only get worse with the newly inflicted burns. What was that supposed to do, anyways?

“It’s so your wound doesn’t get infected,” Blue Lady says, catching Tony thinking out loud. To respond to that, Tony rolls over on his side and vomits onto the ground. Blue Lady says nothing; she only presses her lips into a thin line.

“We’ll have to change your dressings every few hours, and if we can find the Benatar before we get incinerated, then there’s a chance there will be some sort of medical kit or more clothes we can tear up. Do you think you can stand?” She rises to her feet, offering her hand again.

Tony shrugs. He doesn’t know if he can get up quite yet, but if he lays there any longer, he might just end up being burnt to a crisp. He sighs and nods, muttering, “If you can help me up,” while trying to lift his neck from the slab. The pain just sears right through him again, and he cries out, hissing in pain and sucking in a breath. Blue Lady grumbles something incoherent and picks him up like a forklift, letting him settle in her arms bridal-style. A loud popping and fizzing sound can be heard from not too far away, and she curses loudly, seeing a plume of fire jet out of the earth, its flames licking at the gray sky. Little flecks of ash and debris rain down upon the pair, and with a very loud, practically screamed “FUCK!” the pair is off, Blue Lady carrying Tony through a wasteland of fiery metal and rumbling ground. Tony feels another wave of nausea smack him, and he pitches forward involuntarily, groaning.

“I can’t believe Thanos did it,” Blue Lady says, her chest so close to Tony’s head that he can hear her heart pound in her chest, though it’s like no heartbeat he’s ever heard before. It seems almost mechanical.

“He snapped his fingers. Half of the universe is gone.”

Panic rises in Tony’s chest.

“I can’t,” he barely manages, “I can’t breathe.”

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it over and over again, his failure aching in the back of his mind. It’s a bitter aftertaste; it’s one that makes his stomach turn and his lungs crumple up into tiny boxes he can compartmentalize later. There is so much guilt washing over him that he’s suffocating under it, his whole body shaking.

“You’re going into shock,” says Blue Lady, “just think of something other than this. I need you to hold on.” 

It’s not shock, though. Tony’s felt this hundreds of times before. After New York, after Extremis, after Sokovia, after Siberia. He’s gone to thousands of appointments with the best psychiatrists in the state, conversed with the world’s top talk therapists, but none of their advice is helping in this moment, and the only thing that rings true in his mind is that it’s all his fault. If he hadn’t been so weak, Peter would still be here. The snap wouldn’t have happened. He’d be a hero, not some disgraced survivor who’s halfway to bleeding out. He rides the wave, trying to think about anything else, but failing, clinging to Blue Lady’s chest as she runs.

They’re running for what seems like hours when Blue Lady comes upon a clearing untouched by the fire and fury of the planet post moon-collison. Tucked away behind several crumbling pillars and an overturned roof is some sort of spaceship, for what Tony can see. Blue Lady stops against a pillar, panting to catch her breath.

“Thank you, Quill,” she mutters, though there isn’t an ounce of thankfulness in her voice. It’s still flat and lifeless, and for a second, Tony wonders about the past of the woman who rescued him. His vision is clearing up quickly, and he sees there’s a silver piece sunken into Blue Lady’s skin, almost like a strange, high-tech monocle was glued into her face, and a flat, black, finlike box sits on her head. Her movements have seemed jerkier than ever, and as she lets Tony down to lean him against the pillar, she rifles through her leather jacket pocket for the spare to the Benatar that her sister had given her a few months back. Hell, she hadn’t even known how the key had made it into her possession– her sister had only written a note that said “For emergencies only. If you hijack our ship and kill us all, I’ll kill you right back. –G.” 

Well, she thinks, this certainly constitutes as an emergency.

The door opening to the lower deck of the Benatar was remarkably left open– Quill had probably not bothered to shut it since he wasn’t the brightest creature. Blue Lady picks Tony back up, slinging him over his shoulder like a ragdoll. He cries out in pain, and Blue Lady walks up the ramp leading into the deck just to turn around and see the ground erupting into molten flame.

She shrieks out a curse, throwing Tony into a chair and ignoring his loud yells and protests, and fires up the engines of the M-ship. Slamming her hand against the lock on the ramp, she runs to the front of the ship again. Time is of the essence, and if she doesn’t get into the air soon, they’ll be boiled alive in the Guardians’ spaceship. Both of them are hit with a loud noise from the speaker system- the middle of Toto’s “Africa” blaring through the Benatar’s walls. 

“Do you know how to fly an M-ship?” Blue Lady yells over the engines’ roar and the screaming of the ground.

“No! I don’t!” Tony yells right back, his breath heavy though his anxiety has calmed down.

“You’re supposed to be a genius, you– Oh, nevermind! Take the controls– no, not those, and hold them, and on my count, pull them up,” she instructs, watching Tony struggle with the instruments in front of him. 

“One!”

The ground hisses and spits, hot air surely boiling the bottom of the Benatar.

“Two!”

A jet of fire can be seen in the distance, and a pillar crumbles and falls onto one of the legs of the ship.

“Three!”

Though the engines took off, the ship barely moves, and Blue Lady screams in frustration, slamming her hands on the dashboard.

“You’re gonna need to pilot us out of here,” she yells, pointing a strangely accusatory finger at Tony.

“Me?!”

“Just do what I tell you to! I’ll tell you when to lift off, just let me figure out what’s wrong!” Blue Lady reopens the ramp, and runs down to the lower deck of the Benatar, shooting one last “Don’t let me down” look at Tony, whose face is pale from the blood loss, but paler so from his inexperience.

The ground is practically a field of lava when Blue Lady reaches it, and she notices a mass of boulders covering one of the tethers to the ground. It’s probably suicide at this point, but this is her only way out. She holds onto the ramp with one hand, her legs dangling over the molten ground. Somewhat spasmodically, she kicks at the rocks, feeling the heat start to singe her leather clothes. The ends of her pants are burning off, but she keeps kicking, grunting as the last few rocks come tumbling down into the abyss of lava encroaching on their landing site. Her clothes are charred at this point, the leather boiling her body. She weakly pulls up, clinging to the ramp for dear life.

“Now!” she yells, signaling Tony to take off. He pulls up on his lever, feeling the ship lurch upward and hearing Blue Lady struggle with getting back up onto the ship.

She gets up, though, mostly unharmed, and sprints to the cockpit, not wasting any time in taking the controls and maneuvering them out of the lava field below them. Titan’s surface seems to be covered in the stuff, and as a flaming piece of metal surges up on the Benatar’s left, Blue Lady steers the ship to the right in a jarring motion. 

“I’m gonna throw up again,” Tony moans, holding a hand up to his mouth.

“I won’t clean it up,” Blue Lady snaps, swerving the ship out of some close-knit stone structures and flipping it onto its side.

Tony swallows down any bile rising in his throat.

“We just have to get out of this atmosphere, get into space, and make a jump to some habitable planet or moon so you can get your stab wound properly taken care of.”

“Why do you care?”

Blue Lady’s face contorts into something incredibly confused. “What do you mean, ‘why do I care’?”

“About me. It’s all my fault.”

Blue Lady shakes her head.

“It’s not your fault.”

She looks back at Tony.

“It’s not mine.”

Her eyes wander away from Tony’s bloody frame.

“It’s not Quill’s.”

Tony wants to disagree, but in his situation, he really can’t. Besides, Blue Lady isn’t done speaking. 

“It’s not Gamora’s, Mantis’s, or the spider-man’s. It’s no one’s fault but Thanos’s. And believe me, he will pay for all of the lives taken from this universe with his own.”

As they break from Titan’s explosive atmosphere into space, Tony hopes that Blue Lady is right.


	2. where you should be all the time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets the help he needs. Thanos' fingersnap reaps more devastation than Tony or Nebula imagined. The pair travels on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pretty big CW for post-apocalyptic settings, medical shiz including needles, and just chaos in general, so if that's not your scene or it makes you anxious, read with caution! Thank you again to Annabel and Rhea for betaing for me- you guys are the best. This chapter is a bit short, and it also came out a bit late, but I'll update early next week to compensate for that.

Space has always fascinated and terrified Tony. Today, however, he’s feeling neither fascinated nor terrified. AsTitan erupts into a destructive show of hellfire, Tony is instead thankful he’s in space and not on that godforsaken planet anymore.

 

“We’re about twenty clicks from the jump point,” Blue Lady says, and that’s when Tony realizes that he should ask her name and stop mentally calling her Blue Lady.

 

“Uh,” he starts, still a bit woozy, “you have a name, right?”

 

Blue Lady– or whatever her name is– shoots a piercing glare back to Tony, who’s now been made aware of how stupid his comment is.

 

“Nebula,” she says.

 

“Nebula,” Tony repeats. “Tony Stark. You can call me Tony, though.”

 

The  _ Benatar _ speeds through empty, mostly starless space, “Listen To The Music” serving as the soundtrack to their silent travels. Nebula says nothing as she continues to drive the ship, occasionally looking back to check on Tony. She taps at a holographic screen, sharply nodding to herself. She’s found an access point.

 

“So,” Tony says, awkwardness creeping back into his voice, “where are we headed?”

 

“A little planet called Sybilia. I’ve never been there, considering its access ports have generally been locked, but since the snap…” She taps at the holopad again. “It’s open. It’s our best chance at getting you some real medical help.” 

 

Nebula stares forward. “Ten clicks.” She taps something else onto the pad in front of her– probably coordinates– and glances back at Tony.

 

“Your clothes are really burnt up,” he mentions, earning a snort from Nebula. She takes her jacket off, and it practically falls apart.

 

“I don’t care. We’ll find you something less bloody when we land.”

 

Tony is okay with that. He watches a small star beat against the darkness, a few asteroids floating around it. If only Bruce could see this– Bruce, who may not even be alive. Tony isn’t sure if any of his friends are alive. That thought contorts into something that stops his breathing and leaves him gasping for air.

 

“What?” He hears Nebula say, and she jerks her head back. Her eyes are wide and wild, and the dark, sooty marks on her face make her look even more feral.

 

“Nothing,” is all Tony is able to manage, “fly the ship.”

 

He grips the seat’s armrests like a lifeline. Inhale, exhale. Inhale deeply, exhale fully. That should calm him down. He’ll be fine. His friends are fine. Even if they’re not, he can save them. Right?

 

A hexagonal space opens up several thousand yards away. “Two clicks,” Nebula says. Within the little hexagon is another slice of space. As they grow closer, Tony notices that within the hexagon there are ships littered everywhere, each one burning bright.

 

“One click.”

 

Tony doesn’t know what he expects, but it sure isn’t anything like he imagined jumping through space would be like. It’s less mind-stretching and more smooth, and they land just outside a bright blue planet swirling with golden clouds.

 

The wreckage is breathtaking. Ships lay smoldering, suspended in the vacuum of space. Tony can make out passengers and pilots, frozen in space, dead as doornails. Their mouths hang ajar, the shock of seeing their compatriots turn to dust unmistakable and familiar.

 

Nebula says nothing as she drives under a corpse, only briefly closing her eyes as its leg hits the window of the cockpit. The sound rattles throughout the entirety of the  _ Benatar _ like a lone drum. This death, this destruction, it brings back such poignant memories in her mind of the devastation of thousands of cities and provinces under the watchful eye of Thanos. He’d march his troops into outgunned and outmanned cities, leaving their forces utterly outnumbered. Half of the population of every conquered territory would die painful deaths, and the other half would bear the trauma inflicted by the mad Titan. Nebula would strike him down, though. It was her purpose, to kill this heartless monster she once called her father.

 

Looking at the ground for only a moment, Nebula wonders how heartless a father could be to kill his own child for his own vainglorious purposes. That was simply an affirmation– Thanos was beyond redemption. Killing Gamora was one of the final fuses set to make Nebula blow.

 

“You alright?”

 

Tony’s voice piped up from the back-right seat. He sits up in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Nebula. Her face is twisted with such rage that Tony felt a chill in his bones. To him, that face was something terrifying.

 

Nebula says nothing, keeping her eyes on the beeline to the planet– Sybilia. Externally, it looks beautiful. The clouds cover the royal-blue surface of the planet. Tony isn’t sure if the blue is land or water, but either way, it’s deep and gorgeous– until the  _ Benatar _ lowers into Sybilia’s atmosphere, passing ethereal golden clouds and dipping into thick smoke.

 

The carnage of the land is horrific. They’re flying over what appears to be a major city, and it’s unsettling to see ships crashed into tall buildings, cars piling up, people standing confusedly in the streets even hours after the snap.

 

“We’re going to need to land somewhere open,” Nebula says, mostly to herself. Tony scans the window for any clearings, and starts to watch the burning buildings fade into less-damaged treetops. After a few moments, Nebula and Tony fly over a clearing, a blue, brilliant meadow. The landing is more shaky than smooth, and when the engines die down, Nebula looks down at her battered jumpsuit, sticking her fingers through a hole on her stomach. She groans and kicks her jacket across the floor, walking over to Tony’s chair with a stomp in her step.

 

“Up. I’ll carry you into town.”

 

Nebula packs two aero-rigs in her jumpsuit pocket, for safety reasons, of course.

 

They’ve walked for miles, but finally, they arrive at the largest hospital in the city, and remarkably, it’s one of the few buildings still standing. It is teeming with Sybilians and travelers alike, every one of them with some different ailment. One man’s neck is obviously broken, blood dribbling from his lips, but somehow he’s still alive, though his green eyes look quite dead. A little girl cradles the stump where her arm used to be, the pain apparently not setting in yet. Citizens rush in and out, offering what volunteer experience they have. A Sybilian touches Nebula on the shoulder, and she jumps, reaching for the blaster in her belt. She calms when she sees it’s only a nurse, and jerks her head toward Tony.

 

“He was stabbed. He needs stitches.”

 

The Sybilian nods, taking what seems like a folded up mass of metal and placing it against the wall. She taps a button on the top, and Tony watches in wonderment as it unfolds itself into a sleek wheelchair. Tony is set down in the wheelchair by the nurse, a sad smile on her pale face.

 

“You need stitches for a stab wound, huh? Well, that’s not the weirdest thing we’ve seen today. By far, it’s been patients and doctors and staff turning into black ash,” the woman says. She takes Tony down a long hall, turning into a room with cabinets overflowing with medical equipment.

“Would you mind helping your friend onto that table?” She asks Nebula, who grits her teeth.

 

“He isn’t my friend.”

 

Nebula grabs Tony from his chair and sets him down on the table.

 

“Feeling dizzy again,” he says, and the nurse puts a needle in his arm. She stretches a band around his head, attaching another to his wrist, and a monitor beeps to life, reading his pulse. Some of the blood from his arm separates off into a metal box, and the monitor hums.

 

“Stark, Anthony E.,” it says, in a female voice that is slightly reminiscent of an Amazon Echo.

“Age 48. Terran male. Suffering a loss of 37% of blood, due to a puncture wound in the chest.”

 

“How the hell does it know who I am?” Tony slurs, raising his unbanded arm in confusion.

 

The nurse tilts her head, cutting through his undershirt and immediately filling another needle once his shirt is off. She sticks his arm with it, and Tony feels a rush of calmness over his whole body.

“You’re one of the most famous Terrans,” she explains, “right up there with George Washington, Martin Luther King, Jr., Genghis Khan, and Childish Gambino.”

Tony’s mind, weak from the fatigue that comes with blood loss, can’t even comprehend him being muddled in with that bunch.

 

“Miss? You did a very good job cauterizing his wound. It doesn’t look to be infected at all, and it should be easier to stitch him up.”

 

“Where’d you even learn to do that, Blue Man Group?” Tony giggles at the nickname he’s given Nebula, growing even woozier under the relaxant. “I mean, it kinda saved my life. You must be really good at that kind of thing. I mean, you seem like such a badass.”

 

Nebula scoffs, and leans back against the wall, staying silent.

 

“Okay, we’re going to have to clean out the wound before it’s stitched,” the nurse says, and she takes a small packet of clear liquid, opening it onto Tony’s gash and waiting for it to stop fizzing. After a moment, a dark-colored gel has formed on his body, and she wipes it off, into a dish, and puts the dish on the ground.

 

“That’s all the dirt that was around the lesion,” she explains, “and thankfully it wasn’t too much. You’re all clean right now, so we’re going to take some of this…” The nurse picks up a syringe-shaped applicator, and sets the tip in a slightly-open part of the wound, emptying it and trying her best to get it all inside.

 

“This is going to help the blood to clot and take out any more possible infection. It will also help to repair any and all cells that have been destroyed, because your body’s getting pretty close to shutting down. But don’t worry! You’ll be perfectly fine. Your friend made the right decision by patching you up and bringing you here.”

 

Nebula scowls again.

 

The syringe finishes emptying, and the nurse discards it, taking a hot needle and some medical-grade thread. She gets to work on the sutures, Tony feeling nothing at all past his shoulders. If he were more sober, so to speak, he may even ask about the chemical compounds of this stuff, but he’s off in Dope-Land, staring up at the ceiling and counting the nicks in the tiles like an idiot. 

 

“Alright,” the nurse says, snipping the thread, “you’re all done. I’ll just have to dress this, and send you with some gauze, since it looks like both of you are in need of proper supplies. If you’ll excuse my quickness, though, there are hundreds of others in need of medical care, so please head out the back door, and be safe on your travels.”

 

She hands Tony a shirt, a box of bandages, and what looks to be a space-age first aid kit.

 

And with that, Tony is thrust into Nebula’s arms and hurried out of the room, a crisp, blue shirt on his back and a newly-patched wound on his chest. Nebula picks him up bridal-style–  _ again _ – and takes off through the halls of the medical center. 

 

“Seriously, though, where’d you learn how to burn skin like that?”

 

“Shut up,” she snaps, dropping Tony against a fallen garbage can and casually commandeering an abandoned motorcycle-like vehicle like it’s nothing. Nebula grabs Tony’s wrist, bringing him to his feet and leaning him up against the scooter as she mounts it. She picks Tony up and wraps his arms around her chest and tells him not to let go, no matter what, and he nods, resting his face on her shoulder sleepily (much to her disgust). It takes them about fifteen minutes to get back to the ship, and Tony can feel the relaxants wearing off. Nebula tosses the scooter against a tree, picks Tony back up, and walks up the ramp into the _Benatar_ ’s lower deck. He can feel below his chest now– which means his legs– and he stumbles out of Nebula’s arms toward the seat next to hers in the cockpit, breathing heavily.

 

“Did that even happen?”

  
Nebula says nothing, and the  _ Benatar  _ takes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblgungle is [here](http://liferuiner63.tumblr.com). Send me requests, professions of love, hate mail, or pictures of your pets. I didn't mean for that to sound weird.
> 
> As alwaaaaays, comments and kudos make the world go 'round for meeee!


	3. take what's yours, and be damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebula delves a bit deeper into her past. Tony discovers more about the ragtag group known as the Guardians of the Galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thaddy makes an appearance in this chapter! content warning for some non-consensual body modification (it isn't detailed, just discussed) so watch out!

“I had to cut my own hand off,” Nebula says, and Tony narrows his eyes, caught off-guard by her comment. They’re back on course, trying to find an accessible jump point to someplace called Contraxia.

 

“Excuse me?” Tony’s fully conscious now, and feeling almost as good as he did two days ago- well, physically.

 

“You heard me.”

 

Nebula looks as if she’s ruminating on something that she’s never told anyone, choosing her words wisely as she speaks.

 

“I was fifteen. Thanos- he pitted me against my sister on the regular, to register who was excelling more in combat. I always lost, but Gamora…” She chuckles, though it sounds as passionless as ever. “Gamora was the favored daughter. She was smarter. Stronger. More beautiful. Better in every single way. I lost my eye, and my arm, and my brain as punishment for not being as good as her. I still remember him asking Gamora which arm I favored.”

 

“She’s right-handed,” Gamora had said, standing to the left of Nebula’s beaten, bloody figure. Her blue skin was covered in bruises and scars, while Gamora’s smooth green skin hardly had a scratch on it.

 

“That settles it. You lose the battle, you pay the price for it.”

 

Gamora had looked from Thanos to Nebula in horror, clearly reading the sick innuendo her father had laid out in front of them.

 

“Wait,” she’d started, sensing the crashing fear that had smothered Nebula, “wait. Don’t take her arm.”

 

“Don’t take her arm,” Thanos had repeated, simply an echo, with no underlying mocking tone to it at all.

 

“Please,” Gamora had begged, and Nebula’s eyes had widened, finding Gamora’s defense incredulous. Why should she ever think it would be safe of her to protect her sister, when Thanos could so easily punish her as well?

 

“I won’t take her arm,” Thanos began, earning a relaxed, almost happy exhale from both girls, “I only ask that she takes her own hand.”

 

The previous horror on Gamora’s face is back, and she shakes her head, hearing a defeated, breathy sob from her sister. “That’s not what I meant-”

 

“I didn’t ask to be given any backtalk from you, little one.”

 

The nickname pierced through Gamora’s defenses, and she shrunk back, bowing her head.

 

“I’m sorry, father.”

 

“You may excuse yourself now.”

 

Nebula grits her teeth, coming back from her memories rather roughly. 

 

“He made me cut it off with my own blade. No anesthesia, no relaxants, no pain medication. Just me, for hours, cutting through my own flesh. I burnt it to stop any infection as soon as I was done. From then on, whenever I lost a training session with my sister, I lost a part of my body. Whether it was a bone, or a finger, or a foot… It was all the same to him. I was nothing more than a punching bag for Gamora, his  _ favorite _ , though she ended up the prodigal daughter.”

 

Rage seeps back through Nebula’s voice, and Tony can practically feel her anger straining at its leash. He listens to her, hanging onto each word, and feeling so horribly out of place with how much this woman has gone through. To him, the story alone justifies every bit of hatred she feels toward Thanos.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, “you really didn’t deserve any of that.”

 

They ride in silence for the next three hours.

 

“You should change. Your clothes are falling off your body, and normally, I’d be fine with that-” Tony pauses as Nebula gives him a murderous look- “-and that was a joke, but we should either use what currency your Guardian pals have to buy some clothes off Space Amazon or go to Space Nordstrom’s and get something that’s less burnt-to-a-crisp.”

 

“That won’t be necessary.” Nebula taps her fingers against the holographic monitor in front of her, mapping out a flight pattern.

“We’re stopping on a moon called Kenervan before we go anywhere else. I’ve noticed issues with some of the flight mechanisms on this ship, and something seems off with the guns, too. You’ll have plenty of time to raid the closets.”

 

—

 

They land swiftly on Kenervan, which appears to be mostly deserted. The red grass dusted all across the land swamps the  _ Benatar  _ and reaches up to Tony’s mid-chest– or, Nebula’s waist. A few deerlike creatures run in a panic. For some reason, Tony finds the Kenervanian air to be easier to breathe until a breeze blows through, carrying small particles of black dust. Nebula gets to work immediately, alternating between using her metal arm and a toolbox labeled “ROCKET’S STUFF”. 

 

“Hey,” Tony says, trying to focus on his breathing while leaning against a metal pole, “you need any help? I’ve been told I’m pretty good at tinkering. I mean, you saw my suit and everything on Titan, right...?”

 

Nebula shakes her head. Tony’s attitude is a little  _ too  _ inflated for her liking, though she knows he means well.

 

“C’mon. Would it help if I said please?”

 

Nebula jerks her hand in a sudden, jarring motion, waving Tony away.

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll go see if there’s anything that’ll be...  _ less crispy _ for you to wear, then.”

 

Tony hikes up the stair-ramp onto the lower deck, turning right, which leads him to a hallway with several locked doors that appear to be to cabins of some sort. The letters on each cabin door are foreign, certainly not of any language Tony has ever seen in his life. One has a particularly noxious smell coming from it, something akin to bomb smoke, another has vines sprawling from the cracks in the door, and another has several dents in it. The door at the end of the hall has a “KEEP OUT! OR ELSE! THAT MEANS YOU, DRAX!” sign plastered on it. Tony goes with the dented door, kicking it in with all his might, and when that doesn’t work, he grabs a metal pipe. With a newly hurting foot, Tony slams the pipe against the door handle, breathing a sigh of relief when his beating has rewarded him the door creaking open.

 

The room inside is dimly lit, with most of the lights covered up by dark cloth. The bed is simple, and barely disturbed, with one pillow and one gray animal-skin blanket. There is a chair with a leather-bound journal sitting on it– and it looks like it hasn’t been touched in ages. The most interesting things, though, had to be the racks of long knives and swords hanging on each wall. Tony stands, half-smiling, half-shocked, at how cluttered yet organized this person’s room is. He takes a few steps toward the closet, opening it to find zero shirts and heaps upon heaps of pants– hanging on hangers, tucked into open drawers, splayed out on the closet floor. On the tag inside every pair of pants is “DRAX”, scrawled in messy black pen.

 

“So this is John Cena’s bunk,” Tony mutters to himself. “Wellp, unless I’m going for the ‘horrifically scarred dad bod’ look, this isn’t my scene.”

 

Tony is about to leave the room when he notices the journal again. In that moment, he decides to reach for it. For a second, he feels weird. After all, going through a dead man’s private and personal feelings is incredibly uncomfortable on so many levels. Who’ll rat him out, though? As far as he knows, Nebula is still working on the ship, and he would be, too, if she wasn’t being so obstinate. And intimidating. But more obstinate. She wasn’t intimidating, she didn’t scare Tony. Especially not when she made really sudden movements and dropped her voice to that intense whisper she had mastered so, so well.

 

Without further ado, Tony opens Drax’s journal.

 

The scrawl on the first page is barely legible. It’s written in green ink, and  _ lord _ , Tony could easily swear, in a court of law for that matter, that he was reading chicken scratch.

 

_ I don’t know why Quill bought us these journals. They serve virtually no purpose other than for kindling. Quill said it would be good for us to let off steam. Little does he know, my body temperature does not heat to a degree sufficient enough to produce any steam. _

 

Tony feels his eyes do a 360-degree flip in his head.

 

_ Gamora and Quill have been spending a lot of time alone together. I waited outside their room last night because I wanted to ask them what they were doing. Quill came over to lock his door and noticed I was standing there, and then proceeded to scream like a child and berate me for the next few minutes. It was then I realized that he was shirtless and covered in– _

 

“Okay, no, TMI,” Tony mumbled, skipping the gory details and reading to the bottom of the page.

 

_ He said that this was the last straw. I told him Mantis bought more straws last weekend. The bendy kind, because Rocket thinks they’re funny. I think he hoards them. _

 

Tony ponders how this group cohesively functioned at all– and, let alone, had the ability to save the universe multiple times. He flips past pages of Drax not understanding things and everyday Guardian-of-the-Galaxy responsibilities, until he comes across a short, bittersweet entry.

 

_ Not a day passes where I don’t think of Hovet and Kamaria. They deserved much better than what they got, and I cannot help but feel responsible for their fates. I wasn’t strong enough then, but I will be, and Thanos will pay for their lost lives with his. _

 

Tony lingers on that page for a while, thumbing the sides of the pages. There are at least fifty pages left, fifty pages of Drax’s life that he could have filled, no matter how mundane and humdrum, but Thanos just had to come along and steal away another life undeserving of ending so soon. 

 

_ Rocket once said everyone has dead people, but that’s no excuse to get others killed along the way. These dead people, however, linger with me longer, since they were my loved ones. I will not listen to that advice when I meet Thanos face-to-face, though. I will kill him, no matter how impulsive I may seem, or die trying. _

 

For a moment longer, Tony stares at the scrawl, trying to keep his mind away from teenage boys from Queens disappearing into clouds of ash. He can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOF i'm so sorry for updating so weirdly! i have a new job so that doesn't leave me with a lot of time for writing/editing/posting but i will be working on this fic more now that i'm enrolled in a creative writing class! comments/kudos are appreciated so so much.


	4. every planet we reach is dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tension abounds, tony discovers more journals, and a falling-out occurs.

Tony doesn’t know how long he’s been  _ having an attack _ , but when he comes to, he is staring at the ceiling in Drax’s room, the leather journal clutched to his chest. He pries his fingers off the journal, closes it, and sets it gently on the chair, quietly excusing himself from the room and slumping down against the wall. He holds his head in his hands, wiping at the tears on his cheeks, and he wipes his nose with his sleeve. It isn’t until he looks up that he realizes Nebula is standing over him, and he tenses, then relaxes some.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

Tony shakes his head.

 

“Stark. Tell me what happened.”

 

“Let me be alone. Please.”

 

“No.”

 

“ _ No _ ?”

 

“No.”

 

“That’s a little rude of you, don’t you think?”

 

“It’s ruder of me to leave you crying in the hallway.”

 

“Okay, well, in that case, be rude. Be the rudest you that you can be. Just leave me alone.”

 

“ _ No _ .”

 

Nebula is crouched down, glaring at Tony. He’s sufficiently freaked out, and whatever she’s trying to do isn’t helping.

 

“What the hell are you trying to accomplish? Are you trying to scare me into saying what’s wrong? Is that what you do? No wonder you have trouble in the making-and-keeping friends department.”

 

“Fine!” Nebula practically shoots up from the ground, kicking a piece of floor tile for emphasis.

 

“Not fine! Great! Good- _ bye _ !”

 

Nebula stomps off a few paces, then turns on her heel, huffing intensely and kicking a sizeable dent in the hallway doorframe.

 

“Good luck fixing that, Robocop, because I’m not gonna do it if you keep acting like a seven-year-old!”

 

From faraway, Tony hears a growled scream and a crash of metal against metal. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to piss off a galactic assassin who happened to be his only ride home.

 

Hours later, Tony finds a note scribbled in blue ink sitting on his chair.

 

_ Stark. _

_ I’m going to see if there is any intelligible or helpful life nearby. You can stay on the ship and bitch and moan all you want, but if I come back and you’re not here, have fun living the rest of your days on Kenervan. I hear the sunsets are beautiful. _

_ –Nebula. _

 

Instinct tells Tony to crumple the note and throw it in the wastebasket. Reason tells him to set it on the table and try to open someone else’s room and actually find clothes– if not for Nebula, then for himself. The hospital shirt is getting too clingy and sweaty, which normally wouldn’t be an issue, but since he’s still got a gash on his chest, it’s starting to smell like weird skin. Tony doesn’t want to smell like weird skin.

 

He stands between the two diverging hallways, and decides to scope out the other hallway. For one thing, it certainly seems less destroyed. Tony tries the first door on the right, and to his surprise, the handle turns and clicks open.

 

The room inside is very well-kept, with small, twinkling lights decorating the walls. An old-fashioned Polaroid camera sits on the green-painted nightstand next to the bed. That certainly explains the mass of Polaroid pictures tacked to the walls, and upon closer inspection, Tony sees some familiar faces. Drax, Mantis, and Quill are among them, as well as a small treelike creature, a bipedal raccoon, and a woman with green skin who he assumes to be Gamora. In one picture, Quill looks to be jamming out to music while sponging a counter clean. In another, Mantis has turned the camera around so she and Drax can take a selfie on a beach front, though only Drax’s forehead is visible. Tony’s mind wanders back to the Avengers– the most fun they’ve had as a group is going bowling together, and even that wasn’t too joyful. From the photographs and what he’s heard, the Guardians knew how to balance fun and responsibility just perfectly. The Avengers never really had that ability.

 

Tony decides to open the dresser drawer, rifling through several pairs of leggings and finding another journal. He’s conflicted– he can’t risk possibly having a worse attack, but he still wants to know if anything of value is hiding inside.

 

The script is very legible. It almost reminds him of Pepper’s handwriting, and taking a deep breath, he tucks any thoughts of Pepper away.

 

_ Quill bought my friends and I these diaries. He thinks it is childish that I use the term “diary”, but I like it better than the word “journal”. It is so much more emotionally evocative. _

 

It’s obvious from the tone in the writing that this is Mantis’ room, this is her journal– er, diary.

 

_ I have been taking pictures with an old camera we found at a swap meet on a planet called Talakar. It was very cold there, and Gamora lent me her jacket. It was very fluffy and warm, and lined with some kind of fur. I like it very much. _

 

‘Okay, this is too boring and sisterhood-of-the-traveling-parka-y’, Tony thinks, and skims a bit more until he comes across something of interest. It’s written smaller than any previous entries, and Tony squints, bringing the text closer to his face.

 

_ I have been thinking about someone a lot. She is strong, and smart, and beautiful, but she does not like laughing or having fun. Quill told me she has a stick up her ass, and Gamora hit him on the back of his head. _

 

Romantic drama was better than nothing. It’d provide as reading material.

 

_ I think I am in love. I do not know, though, since I have never experienced any romantic feelings for anyone in my life. Everything up to this point has been purely platonic. I want to kiss this person a lot, though. I feel like if I kissed her, she would take the stick out of her ass. I have not told anyone I have romantic feelings for her yet, though. I have already decided that if I am to tell anyone about her, it will not be Gamora. If things do not go well, it will be awkward to see Gamora, since she is the sister of the girl I like. _

 

Oh.

 

_ Oh. _

 

_ Drax would say I am too ugly to find love, so that would not be helpful. Quill would tell her and get himself killed. Rocket, the puppy, would tell me love is a lie. Groot would say...  He would say “I am Groot”. I am still learning his language. I will have to tell no one, then. Only myself. _

 

Tony turns the page and watches several small pictures flutter to the ground. He picks each one up– and _ oh, wow _ . They’re pictures of Nebula. Candids, but still pictures. She’s sitting at the table, reading a stack of papers. She’s looking out into the vastness of space, watching her namesake, a massive red and blue nebula, swallow up a corner of the universe. Perhaps the most stunning one is Nebula, standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking a grassy beach with two moons circling a setting sun. Her face is still solemn and expressionless, but somewhere in the plainness is a sense of content, if only in that moment alone.

 

Another picture shows Nebula sitting on a fallen tree, the red moss contrasting with her blue skin and black underclothes. Mantis has her arms around her, and the smile on her face could light the lamps of a thousand planets. In the background, he sees Quill’s half-smirk, a hint of a green elbow, and a weird bipedal raccoon photobombing them.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Nebula’s voice makes Tony throw the pictures onto the floor, practically jumping five feet in the air from the shock.

 

“Nothing!” Tony tries to defend himself, reaching for the picture of Nebula on the beach-planet.

 

It’s clear that Nebula knows exactly what Tony is doing- the open journal, the pictures strewn around, the polaroid slightly adjusted.

 

“Get out,” she seethes, pointing toward the door, “get  _ out _ .”

 

Tony puts both hands in the air, inching toward the door. When he’s back in the hallway, the door slams shut, and he hears a clang, the rustling of papers, then a soft sob.

  
He doesn’t look back as he walks out of the  _ Benatar  _ and into the grassy fields of Kenervan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wellp there ya go! i'm trying to write 2 chapters before i update just so i know i'll have content. i have no idea how many chapters this fic will be but just bear with me hahahah.
> 
> hit me up on tumblr (@liferuiner63)


	5. sunlight comes streaming through the holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony and nebula make amends. a road trip is planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ENDGAME MONTH!!! my original goal was to finish this before endgame came out but i have no idea if that's happening so i'll be writing vigorously these next few days. i just don't want to expose myself to what really happened between tony and nebula in the canon of the MCU and "ruin" my personal headcanon.  
> anyways, i'll try to update bi-weekly, since i've decided that this is going to be approximately ten chapters long. these next five chapters WILL be a bit longer, so bear with me here!!

Tony has been walking for what seems like hours now. There’s a certain pollen on the grass that dusts his cheeks red- maybe it’s not pollen, maybe it’s the way his eyes well with tears every so often.

 

That’s when Tony breaks down and cries, sinking to the ground with his face in his hands. His gash burns, and he devolves into ugly, broken sobs from the pain of his wound mixed with the pain of jeopardizing his only way back home.

 

Peter, Vision, Strange, Steve, Bruce, Pepper, Nebula. 

 

Come to think of it, Tony can’t hardly remember what Pepper’s voice sounds like anymore. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept, maybe it’s because he’s distanced himself from Earth so much, maybe it’s because he just forgot.

 

_ I hope they remember you. _

 

That’s what Thanos had said to him, just as he was about to unleash the full force of four Infinity Stones on his weak body.

 

“If I can’t remember  _ them _ ,” Tony thought out loud, “how the hell are they gonna remember me?”

 

By now, Tony had curled up in a fetal position, the dead heads of the grass serving as a pillow. He needed to rest. He could just close his eyes, and forget, and forgive, and maybe if he dreamed a bit, he could remember some more of his friends, some more of his life.

 

\----------------

 

“Stark!”

 

Night had fallen on Kenervan. No animals cried- only one blue woman made any sort of noise into the darkness. In one hand, she gripped a flashlight, and in the other, a blaster.

 

“Stark, I know you’re out here, we’ve got to go!”

 

Nebula whipped around as soon as she saw a dark shape in her periphery, sprinting toward it.

 

“Damn deer,” she hissed, scowling at the sleeping animal, “I swear, Stark, if you don’t show yourself!”

 

As the grass wound around her ankles and the pollen painted her legs a rustic red, she trudged on, through uneven ground and sleeping animals, trying to keep her wits about her. A few trees curled around the night sky, which burned a harsh black against the lone flashlight Nebula held in her cybernetic hand. With each step, she felt the scratch of the wheat, and heard the clank of the flashlight against the metal implant. If Stark spent any more time out in the red-grass fields, he’d be dead, or in a comatose, brain-dead state.

 

Under a tree was a figure slumped over- Stark, Nebula decided, and upon lifting his head, she was thankful for her sharp intuition. He was out cold, which was bad news.

 

Thinking on her feet, Nebula broke open each one of the tips of her cybernetic fingers, wincing in pain with each one snapping off. Tearing Tony’s shirt open with a knife in her burnt belt, she opened her palm and grit her teeth, bracing for extreme pain.

 

There was a 71% chance this could work- she could summon enough electrical energy to restart Stark’s heart, or at least wake him up from his sleeping spell.

 

\-----------------

 

When Tony finally came to, Nebula was coughing, choking almost, and something smelled like it was burning even more than usual. They were back on the Benatar, though Tony had no clue how he’d gotten himself there. The last thing he remembered was the lull of sweet red pollen helping him drift off to sleep.

 

“That pollen from the meadow back there had a property that can cause living organisms to fall into a coma-like sleep.”

 

Tony racked the statement over in his brain. First, how did Nebula even know he was awake? Second, how did she stay awake in that field?

 

“You’re wondering how I stayed awake, right?”

 

“Okay, freaky how you read my mind there, but yes,” Tony mumbled, trying to roll over onto one side.

 

“And you know that 90% of my body is synthetic?’

 

Tony bit his lip. “I know that now.”

 

“Then that answers it.”

 

The curtness in her voice brought his mind back to the hour before he wandered out into the meadow, and he tensed uncomfortably.

 

“Listen, about a couple hours ago…” he started, treading as lightly as possible.

 

“Thanks to your little tantrum, my arm is destroyed.”

 

Tony winced, and looked at the remnants of Nebula’s arm. It was any mechanic’s nightmare- metal bent up and crumpled by heat, several pieces missing and others cracked. It looked so brittle, so fragile, that Tony almost wanted to help her. She  _ did _ save him from an eternal slumber, after all.

 

“Maybe I could fix your arm,” he piped up, leaning onto his elbow. Nebula snorted and shook her head.

 

“No. I don't need your help,” she muttered, taking a cloth and wrapping the her broken arm up in a makeshift sling. With another cough over her right shoulder, she took the controls of the ship in her left hand, staring straight ahead.

 

“You kind of do. Can you really steer that ship with one hand?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow but backing off as soon as he saw Nebula whip her head around, pure annoyance in her eyes.

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

Tony groaned and shook his head, trying to attack the subject from a new angle.

 

“Look. I may not know about alien prosthetics, but I know about the human stuff plenty. Couple years ago, my friend took a fall after being shot out of the sky by… You know what, that’s a long story for another time. Point being, he couldn’t use his legs after that. He thought he was gonna be wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life. I couldn’t have that, I mean, I knew if there was a will, there was a way to help him walk again. That’s what I do, I fix things. At least, that’s what I  _ did _ .”

 

Though she didn’t look back at Tony, Nebula listened, silently, trying to process what part of their slightly tense relationship would warrant accepting assistance that wasn’t saving each other from imminent danger.

 

“I kinda owe you for saving me from that Wizard of Oz poppy field back there.”

 

No response. Tony rolled his eyes and smacked his palm down on the side of the seat, earning a jump from the blue lady in front of him.

 

“Just let me at least get you something that works, for Pete’s sake.”

 

Was there anything Nebula could say to get him off her case other than “fine”? Probably not. That was how it was going to be, then.

 

“Fine.”

 

Tony felt a surge of confidence hit him, and found himself grinning. If one thing could make him happy, it was definitely performing some engineering magic.

 

“Great. Okay, I can’t open any of my arm designs that I was working on for, uh… Not a friend of mine, but a friend of a friend, unless I get to some sort of computer where I can access my database, so if you’ve got anything that has the Internet here…”

 

Nebula squinted. “Internet?”

 

“Yeah, World Wide Web, Google, Facebook… Oh, you guys probably don’t have an Internet like Earth d-”

 

“Wait, Facebook?” Nebula interrupts, turning around with her good arm still on the ship’s controls.

 

“...Yeah? Don’t tell me you guys have Facebook in space.”

 

“As a matter of fact, we do.”

 

Tony nearly jumps for joy, still a bit woozy, though, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Thank god! Oh my god, thank god. Okay, okay, okay, I’m gonna need whatever metal can easily house several thousand watts of electricity, a strong kind of titanium or steel or vibranium to serve as the skeleton, and whatever the hell connects to your nerves and your muscles so you can actually move it, and some silicone or something so everything is shock-proof, and you gotta find me a computer first, or whatever you use to get on Facebook, okay?” Tony stands there like a madman, leaning on the back of the chair for support, as Nebula gives him an incredibly confused look, but nods nonetheless.

 

“I don’t have any scrap metal that would be worth your time. We’d have to stop on another planet to pick some up.”

 

Tony claps his hands together. 

 

“Alright, let’s do it. National Lampoon’s Alien Vacation.”

 

Nebula shoots him a confused look.

 

“It’ll take about 11,735 clicks to get to the jump point alone. The other points are closed because, well… I think you know.”

 

Tony nods and pushes some more hair out of his face.

 

“Well, you’re going to need a co-pilot since you’re down an arm for the time being. I think it’s time for a round of spaceship driver’s ed starring you as my instructor, Blue’s Clues.”

 

Nebula sighs deeply and wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead. It's dying in space or partnering with this guy, and so far, it's been slightly less than decent. Oh, well. Better than being stuck with someone who's _agonizingly_ irritating.

 

“I guess so.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> facebook in space. spacebook. ba dum tsss.
> 
> MY TWITTER IS NO LONGER CASDANVERS :( it is nakiacap, so find me over there! love y'all so much and can't wait to hear what you think :00


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